


But I stay (when it’s hard, or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes)

by meet_the_girl_who_can



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Charlotte swears considerably, F/M, Mild Language, Sidney should not text when drunk, more than Sidney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 22:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_the_girl_who_can/pseuds/meet_the_girl_who_can
Summary: Modern Sanditon AU! where Sidney decides to take matters into his own hands about his feelings for Charlotte and quickly remembers how badly that went last time, about five hours earlier. But it's okay, because Charlotte meets him halfway.ON HIATUS





	But I stay (when it’s hard, or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Taylor Swift's 'New Year's Day'
> 
> The text conversation between Sidney and Charlotte that was the inspiration for this fic came from tumblr, I'll link it when I find it again. 
> 
> I also decided that for the sake of this fic to just give Lord Babington a first name; so he's Harry Babington for all intents and purposes here. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! xx
> 
> Edit: Thank you very much everyone for all the enthusiasm!! There will be a chapter 2 but I can’t say when. Life’s gotten very busy since I posted Chapter 1 so although I will be writing part 2, I can’t say when it will arrive.

Sidney knows exactly the point at which he fell irretrievably in love with Charlotte Heywood. He’s got it in writing.

Well, a series of texts.

Worse still, it’s a series of texts that Harry Babington has threatened cheerfully to make the front of his Christmas card this year. It’s all Harry’s fault anyway, he’d been the instigator of the whole thing. After trying to convince Charlotte, or Lottie, as everyone was invited to call Charlotte, to actually come to the regatta that had been her idea he’d been the one to kick Sidney up the stairs after her to ask her to come, not Tom. Not that Charlotte needed to know that.

They’d lost the regatta to James Stringer’s team, the young builder/ architect whose helping Charlotte and by extension Tom and by an even more tenuous extension, Sidney, save Sanditon one brick at a time. Sidney had forgotten how much he hated the doubt that encircled vying for the same girl as someone else. Probably because he hasn’t wanted anyone, not deeply and continuously, for such a long time.

Not for ten years ago, with Eliza. He’d lost and decided that if that’s the kind of thing you went about losing, it wasn’t worth it.

But how could anyone ever say that Charlotte, Lottie, Admiral Heywood wasn’t worth it?

And then Eliza had made that stupid fucking jibe, and Sidney, forever trying to save face, had chased after Charlotte. He’d seen the tears glistening in her eyes, the catch in her throat and he’d kicked himself. It was his fault, all because he hadn’t genuinely flirted with someone for longer than two hours for over a decade.

Harry was right, he was in need of the practice.

And then, by some miracle, Charlotte turns up at the house party, he’d arranged to celebrate the regatta at his townhouse on the seafront. Okay so she turns up with Georgiana and Stringer in tow, but he’d rather have Georgiana where he can see her, and at least Charlotte took the trouble to come at all after that shit-show down at the regatta.

And, thank heaven for small mercies, Eliza had had to go back up to London, so had left at the regatta’s closing. God, he never thought he’d be saying that about Eliza. But then, he never thought she’d choose that Campion twat over him.

She catches his eye as she’s stood on the doorstep looking lovely in pale jeans and a top that evidentially evocative of a bodice. The fitted shape of the garment is evocative full stop.

“Well invite us in then” Georgiana commands, elbowing him out of the way with a roll of her eyes and pulling Charlotte after her, already heading for the bar he knows. Letting James over the threshold with a long sigh, Sidney can’t help but let the cool night breeze wash across his face, with nothing but the stars and the sound of the sea for company just for a moment before he closes the door.

It’s going to be a long night.

Especially since Charlotte studiously avoids him throughout the whole party. If he’s in the kitchen getting a beer, he’ll next find her in the den playing pool with as much skill as she’s turned to first aid, cricket and rowing. Where she’ll pot a shot and leave as quickly as he came in, then turn up again on the roof terrace.

The other Parkers have long gone, leaving only the young crowd and the hard booze. Sidney managed to promise everyone tomorrow off when he was still sober enough to recognise how inordinately pissed everyone was probably going to get.

Primariy meaning himself. Standing outside, caving to his need for a cigarette, he thinks bitterly over how the night has gone. He has no idea where Charlotte is, so that’s well and truly shot his plans of getting her alone for just a moment to talk, to tell her he wants nothing to do with Eliza, and that his heart and the way forward are hers alone. Jamie Stringer left at about half one though and Sidney has a sinking feeling that Charlotte’s with him.

He just wants to go home.

Sidney sneakily texts an uber and slips downstairs from the terrace and out the front door into the night.

They’ve been driving for about ten minutes when his phone pings. Blinking down at it, his heart soars as he sees the message.

**Admiral Lotts: ** _Where are you??? _ :( :( :(

Sidney has always liked the impersonal nature of texting, you can be cool and concise. But Charlotte, his Charlotte, can obviously make something so coldly technical emotive, judging by the confused, pissed emojis she’s gratuitously tacked on the end of the message. He’d said he’d stop underestimating her.

**Sidney: ** _Left early_

**Sidney: ** _Sorry, I couldn’t stay longer, sweetheart :(_

An ellipsis bubbles on his phone, disappears and then returns. Tomorrow, he’ll stare at the easy endearment his drunken self has tacked on the end, so evidently betraying his feelings but now he can only pray to placate her.

**Admiral Lotts: **_Are you kidding me?! Come back_ _here now_

Sidney’s heart leaps in his chest again at her order to return to her side – even though earlier he’d been lamenting her evident avoidance. Then-

**Admiral Lotts: ** _You’re shitfaced aren’t you?_

Scowling down at the light of his touchscreen, Sidney wonders for the thousandth time how someone so talented, beautiful and full of light can get under his skin as well as Charlotte Heywood seems to. He’s twenty fucking seven, he’s not like little Henry, he can find his own way bloody home as a responsible adult, thank you very much.

**Sidney: ** _Don’t worry, **Mum, ** I called an uber_

There’s more ellipsis. Talk about digging your own grave Parker. No wonder Charlotte won’t give him the time of day at the moment, if he’s relapsed into full on sulky git mode.

**Admiral Lotts: ** _We drank at your place_

**Sidney: ** _Oh_

**Sidney: ** _Where am I going?_

**Admiral Lotts: ** _fucking hell_

For a very lovely girl, Lotts has got a filthy mouth in a non-professional setting

**Admiral Lotts: ** _get the driver on the phone_

He meekly asks the driver, a nice lady called Laura, to pull over because he’s lost and his more sober friend needs to speak to her to get him home. She pulls up outside of Fredrick street and the Coach and Horses pub and waits for Sidney to call Charlotte.

He puts the phone to his ear only to hear Charlotte sigh and mutter, “Put the driver on”

“Yes, love” he hands the phone quietly over to Laura.

Laura’s smile goes from wary to bemused rather quickly at what even Sidney in his muddled state can tell is the love of his life berating him and his life choices over the phone. It seems no-one is immune to Charlotte’s charms. What’s worse is he can hear Harry in the background alternating between concern and losing his shit laughing.

Fuck his life.

Eventually, _eventually, _Laura and Charlotte hang up and Laura does a U-turn back towards the party with nothing more than a gleam in her eyes and the words “She really must love you. So, not Trafalgar Place then” she confirms, though it’s not a question.

Sidney won’t think about that until tomorrow.

By the time he clambers out of the car, at least 25% more sober than when he left, it’s to find Charlotte and Harry waiting on the steps outside his house. “Uh, hi” he raises a hand awkwardly in something that can’t even be called a wave, really.

Charlotte just rolls her eyes, nose scrunched in that way he’s come to realise means she’s particularly displeased with him. Ah, shit.

Harry watches him mount the stairs, out of that brotherly concern that he won’t fall and break his neck at the last hurdle, makes sure he’s safely inside before locking the door.

“Me and Esther have taken over the back bedroom” he announces to the silence of the empty hallway, the other revellers have evidently staggered back home or taken the party elsewhere, kicking off his shoes at the newel post. “Come on old boy, lets get you some water and a good night’s rest. And a bucket just in case” Harry goes to lead Sidney up stairs after bidding his friends an affectionate goodnight but then Charlotte waves him off and steps forward, stubbornly latching onto Sidney’s wrist.

“No, Harry I’ll do it. I’m the Parker’s PA, I’m the one who looks after the children and pick up the dry cleaning” she does a cracking impersonation of Eliza’s words from earlier this afternoon – he hadn’t realised she’d heard that part of their conversation as well, triple, triple shit and merde. “You go up to Esther” she murmurs more kindly and yanks Sidney towards the kitchen with a wave goodnight.

Sidney catches Harry chucking as he climbs upstairs. Bastard. If there’s any justice in the world, Harry Babington’ll be the one with the hangover tomorrow, not him.

“Sit down” she instructs, watching severely until he slips down onto one of the breakfast bar stools, hands on her hips, before turning to rummage through his cabinets for paracetamol and a water glass.

Waiting until he’s had two glasses of water, she retrieves a basin – god’s _sake_ as if he’s actually going to vomit – and tugs him out of the room, flicking off switches as they go.

“Charlotte you really do not need –“ he protests but she simply talks over him.

“You left your own party, in your own house under the assumption you were going home. Knowing you, you’d end up in London or Antiqua or bloody Timbuktu before you sobered up fully. I’m not taking any chances”

She marches him upstairs, which must look comical, her small hands digging into his shoulders. He stops outside his bedroom and her soft body collides into his back. He catches at her hands to stop her falling over. “Um, here we are then” he announces awkwardly to the bedroom door, pushing at the white painted wood and stepping inside.

It’s only when he turns around that he sees she’s followed him inside, she keeps doing this, it’s a defining characteristic of hers at this point, that Charlotte pops up where she’s not meant to be. The sea cove, the strip club, his bedroom.

A lot of times it’s involves a lack of clothing and nope, not going there, especially not with her in that plunging bodice top.

“Now what?” he asks, and it comes out harsher than he means to, but he hasn’t had cause to speak to someone outside of family for such a long time now, his civility has grown coarse.

Charlotte rolls her eyes but when her gaze returns to his, it’s filled with that terrible doubt he wants to banish from her eyes forever. “Can I – I need to borrow a t-shirt or something to sleep in” she forces the words out so fast that it’s a barely unintelligible mush. Thankfully drunk, Sidney excels at unintelligible mush.

Case in point, “What, you mean you’re staying?”

“Yes” she doesn’t elaborate as to why; and Sidney doesn’t care. Maybe she left her keys and doesn’t want to wake the rest of the Parker clan. Maybe she’s worried about him, maybe, maybe, maybe. Tonight, it’s enough that she’s staying.

Hastily, he rummages in a drawer for one of his old black tshirts, soft with age and thrusts it at her. “Spare bedroom’s this way” he whispers, conscious now of the other inhabitants in his typically empty house. Esther and Harry might be sleeping. Probably not. Wincing to himself, Sidney makes a mental note to tell Babs in the morning that he can be the one changing the fucking sheets. Literally.

Flicking on the light, Sidney crosses over to the chest of drawers and finally finds what he was looking for; a pair of ladies pajamas pants; green stripes in alternating shades. He holds them out to Charlotte and then recognises the look of horror on her face.

“What’s the matter now?”

“You keep ladies sleepwear in your house?!” she asks in a scandalised hiss and he knows her well enough by now, given the whole thing with Eliza to realise where this might be heading.

Huffing patiently, he explains bluntly “They’re my sister’s. Diana stays here sometimes when she can’t sleep. Sea air, sound of the ocean, all that”

Her mouth falls from where it had been open, paused in what would have inevitably been another chance to harangue Sidney, into the most adorable little ‘oh’. He will not kiss her. Not like this.

“Do you have everything? There’s spare new toothbrushes in the cabinet drawer through there” he points towards the ensuite, rushing the sentences out before he does something stupid. Like mentioning that there’s also a pajama top or two in the drawer but he gave her the tee because he wants to see her in his clothes. Instead he resolves to thank her properly over breakfast, somehow.

“Thank you Sidney” she smiles softly, clutching the borrowed clothes to her chest before turning towards the bed, ostensibly to take her shoes off.

“Thank you, Lotts” he returns, the truth of the sentiment burning in every syllable. For coming to Sanditon, for challenging him, engaging him, for _seeing _him, his true self, in a way no-one bothers to anymore. For teaching him it’s possible to rewrite history that he found disagreeable.

That makes Charlotte turn from where she’d been heading toward the bed, look at Sidney sharply in that terrible way she has of making him wish he could kiss her.

“Why do you call me Lotts? No-one else-“

“Because I like you Lotts”


End file.
